


The Poem You Make of Me

by smallumbrella



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Post-Canon, so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallumbrella/pseuds/smallumbrella
Summary: Patrick is away at a conference and David can't sleep: A late night phone call.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 77
Kudos: 198





	The Poem You Make of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something soft and comforting because *everything*. This was soothing to write. I hope reading it has a similar effect.  
> Thank you MeadowHarvest for the inspiration  
> And as always, Thank you missgeevious  
> (This begins and ends in Patrick's pov, the middle is David's pov)

* * *

Patrick has just turned off the bedside lamp when his phone pings.

David (10:47pm) Are you awake?

Patrick (10:48pm) Just got into bed. You okay?

The phone vibrates in Patrick’s hand, the caller ID just says _My Husband_. He answers before it finishes the first ring. “Hi, Sweetheart.”

“Hi, Honey, how’s the conference?” David’s voice is sweet in his ear.

Patrick scoots down under the covers. “It’s fine. It's good actually, there’s some new grants that we’ll be eligible for and a possible tax break in the new year.”

“Hmmm.”

David’s hum makes Patrick smile. He puts an arm behind his head. “That’s good news.”

“I know. I’m glad.”

Patrick frowns into the dark of his hotel room. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice.” David sounds small and soft.

“Aw.”

“How’s the hotel? Is the bed okay?

“Hotel is fine. The bed is too empty.” Unconsciously, Patrick reaches out to the other side of the bed.

*

Over a hundred kilometers away, David mirrors his gesture. “Same here.” 

“Are you warm enough?”

“Mm, I could be warmer.”

“I left my hoodie on the back of the closet door. Go put it on.”

“Is it clean?”

“It’s the one I wore Monday.”

David’s mind flashes back to their day off. He had come downstairs in the morning to find Patrick sleep-rumpled and soft, with his hoodie unzipped over his bare chest, sweatpants slung low on his hips. The coffee was brewing and Patrick had just closed the oven door on a pan of cinnamon rolls. Patrick came to David, holding open his hoodie. David slid his arms around his sweet, warm body and Patrick wrapped the sides of the hoodie around him. While the smell of coffee and cinnamon filled the room, their lazy kisses turned into something more. David ended up dropping to his knees, right there in the kitchen. After that, they’d been on each other all day. Patrick left his hoodie on the whole time.

David laughs softly. “The sex hoodie?”

“That’d be the one, yes.”

David is already out of bed. He finds Patrick’s hoodie and buries his nose in it before he even takes it off the hook and inhales deeply. “Mmmmmm, found it. Hang on.” David sets the phone on the dresser and strips out of his sleep shirt, slipping Patrick’s hoodie over his bare skin. He picks the phone back up. “Much better.”

“I should’ve packed something of yours.” David grins at the pout in his voice.

David gets back in bed and snuggles into the hoodie, pulling the side of the hood over his nose and breathing in. He whimpers quietly. “Ugh, I miss you. How can I miss you so much when you just left this morning?”

Patrick smiles and hums. “I miss you too, baby.” His voice drops. “Want me to talk you off?”

That earns him a chuff of soft laughter in his ear. “I don’t know, maybe? I just needed to hear your voice.”

“I needed to hear yours too.”

“You did?”

“Always.”

“You know, I resent this conference for pulling newlyweds apart.”

“Sweetheart, we’ve been married a year and a half, are we still newlyweds?”

“Yes.” David says it like it’s an absolute truth. 

“Okay. Then I resent them too. I’ll be sure to lodge a complaint.”

“Good. You do that.”

They breathe together for a few quiet minutes.

“What do you need, love?” Patrick’s voice is like warm honey.

David squirms down into his pillow and rubs the soft cotton of the hoodie between his fingers. “Just your voice.”

Patrick’s voice is soft and indulgent. “What would you like to hear?”

“Mmm, something nice.” David closes his eyes and can hear his husband’s smile. 

“Hm, have I ever told you how comforting I find _your_ voice?”

David opens his eyes, a little surprised. “No? Really?”

“Yeah. I… yeah. I can’t believe I’ve never told you this.”

“Told me what?”

“Yeah, okay. You know when I first got to SC I was in a weird headspace.”

“SC is a weird headspace.” David grins in the dark room, 

Patrick chuckles. “You’re not wrong. But, I mean, I was trying to wrap my head around how everything in my life was different. I didn’t know how I fit there and I didn’t know how being gay would fit into my life. This new part of me was unknown and felt unpredictable.”

“Were you afraid?” David holds the phone with both hands, as if he could envelope and comfort his husband's past self. 

“Not afraid really, just unfamiliar. It was like there was a part of me that I hadn’t met yet.”

“Hmm.”

“And then I met you.”

“And then you met me.”

“I was so dazzled, but in the moment I was trying to be professional, so it didn’t click.”

“Professional sass-mouth.”

Patrick huffs laughter. “I didn’t really register the _why_ of it until you left. Then it hit me that I was really fucking attracted to you. But then my brain went into overdrive. I was pretty overwhelmed.”

“Aw, baby.”

“It was all good. It was joy, and relief, and excitement. It was just a lot. You know that I listened to your messages over and over. But I guess I never told you that listening to them really calmed me down. Your voice soothed me.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“There’s more.”

“Oh?” David wiggles a little in anticipation. 

“I couldn’t sleep that night, so I listened to your messages again.”

“Baby.” David presses a hand to his chest at the tenderness he feels there.

“I listened to them almost every night for awhile.” Patrick’s tone is wistful. 

“You did?” 

“I did. At a time when I felt so untethered, your voice grounded me. It put me back into the moment we met. The moment I started to feel right. The moment I started to recognize myself. The sound of your voice, of _you_ , gave me so much peace David.”

“Oh, honey.” David sighs, “That makes me so happy.”

“Are you getting sleepy, babe?”

“A little. Thank you for telling me that story.”

“Thank you for leaving me a dozen stoned messages, love.”

“I love you, Patrick.”

“I love you too, David. So much.”

It’s quiet for a bit. David pulls the hoodie snug around his shoulders and sighs. “I don’t want to hang up.”

Patrick murmurs, “Me neither.”

“Did I ever tell you that I tried to memorize a poem to recite to you?”

“David.” His voice is soft, surprised and pleased. “No. You did that? When?”

“I found the poem about a week after that first night at Stevie’s.”

“That was a hell of night.” Patrick’s voice is breathy. David can practically see him biting his lip at the memory. 

“It _was_ . I was so, just, _drunk_ on you. On us. On how well our bodies worked together.”

“What’s the poem?”

“It’s called Re-creation. It’s by Audre Lorde.”

“I’ll have to look it up.”

“No, no don’t! I want to read it to you.”

“I would love that.”

“Mmhm, okay, listen.”

David clears his throat and begins. 

_“Coming together_

_it is easier to work_

_after our bodies_

_meet_

_paper and pen_

_neither care nor profit_

_whether we write or not_

_but as your body moves_

_under my hands_

_charged and waiting_

_we cut the leash_

_you create me against your thighs_

_hilly with images_

_moving through our word countries_

_my body_

_writes into your flesh_

_the poem_

_you make of me._

_Touching you I catch midnight_

_as moon fires set in my throat_

_I love you flesh into blossom_

_I made you_

_and take you made_

_into me.”_

David clears his throat again. “That’s it, that’s the end.”

Patrick repeats a line. “ _My body writes into your flesh, the poem you make of me_ . My god. David. You _did_ … _we_ did… That’s—” Patrick’s voice is hoarse. Thick with emotion. “I did _not_ know that love could be like this.”

“Honey…” David blinks back the tears that spring up.

“I didn’t know that I'd _keep_ falling in love with you. I thought you fell and that was it. But. But I just fell in love with you again. More. Deeper.” 

Now David’s voice is rough. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Thank you, David.”

“For what?”

“For showing me what love is.”

David gasps. “My god, are you trying to kill me? You can’t just. Not when you’re not here. I love you so fucking much I can’t even… What hotel are you in? I have to show you how much I…”

“Baby, it’s eleven thirty at night and I’m a hundred and twenty kilometers away.”

“Hmph. Fine.” David yawns then.

“Are you ready to say good night?”

“Not really, but yeah, we can.”

“Put me on speaker and put your phone on my pillow.”

David does, then rolls on his side, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder and then tugs on Patrick’s pillow until it’s close. “Okay.”

*

Patrick starts singing softly. “I call you, when I need you, my heart’s on fire…”

When he finishes the song, he waits. There’s only the sound of David breathing evenly. Patrick whispers, “Good night, my love.”

He sets his phone on the other pillow and falls asleep listening to the steady breath of his sleeping husband.


End file.
